


Out of Feathers, Out of Bones

by skatedaddy



Category: IT - Stephen King, IT 2017
Genre: Angst, Child Neglect, Food Issues, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatedaddy/pseuds/skatedaddy
Summary: Richie Tozier knows a lot about what it means to be hungry.





	Out of Feathers, Out of Bones

Richie Tozier knows a lot about what it means to be hungry. He’s all too familiar with that awful, cramping pain in the pit of your stomach, or that faint, dizzy, shaky feeling that comes from having your blood sugar dip too low. He knows what it’s like to run a brush through your hair and have it pull out in clumps, dull and dead in your hands, and to have your fingernails constantly break off because you’re so malnourished. 

He knows that drinking four glasses of water as fast as he possibly can will make him feel full, and he knows that mustard spread over a saltine can make a decent breakfast, or at least give him enough energy to not pass out in school. He knows that sometimes the best thing to have for dinner is just _sleep._ Richie is all too familiar with what it’s like to be hungry, and it’s not exactly a choice he’s making. It’s hard to keep food in the house with his father not around and his mother perpetually drunk; Richie is lucky if he can nab ten dollars from his mom’s purse here and there to buy groceries.. He stretches it as thin as he can, but ten dollars worth of groceries doesn’t get you very far. 

Richie understands food is important. He understands it’s essential for survival. So when he does get the chance to eat, it’s like a wild animal tearing apart its prey. He eats everything so fast, if you blink you might miss it. It’s not just because he’s starving, no, there’s an element of something else that comes into it, some primal fear that if he doesn’t eat fast, his food might be taken away. Considering that he doesn’t get enough food as it is, the idea of it being taken away absolutely terrifies him.

For lunch, the Loser’s take turns buying Richie lunch or bringing him something from home. It’s an unspoken thing that they do, something that both embarrassed Richie and made him look forward to school every day. It was a strange feeling, when your friends had to feed you because your parents don’t, and Richie wonders if they pity him. The idea of that makes him feel sick and sad; but none of them ever bring it up, nobody says anything and nobody ever asks any questions. Richie doesn’t say anything about it either. He just graciously vacuums down whatever food is given to him.

Some days he goes to Stan’s after school and raids his kitchen. Stan’s family doesn’t seem to mind, and they have plenty of money and live quite comfortably, so Richie tries not to feel too bad when he tears through their cupboards and fridge like the tazmanian devil. Stan usually snacks with him, something small, and they’ll sit at the table together, mostly quiet because Richie always has his mouth full.

It’s one of these times, sitting around his kitchen table, that Stan makes the mistake of reaching for one of Richie’s potato chips. It was an innocent enough gesture, but it seems to alarm Richie, who slaps his hand away and snaps;

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

For a second they just stare at each other, and Stan watches a look of horror spread across his friend’s face. Richie can’t believe he really just did that; his face is heating up and flushing with shame. His hand flies up to cover his mouth in shock. “Oh my god, Stan, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I-” The words tumble out rushed and panicked, but Stan interrupts him.

“Dude, it’s fine,” He’s trying sound reassuring, unphased. “It’s not a big deal.” 

But it _is_ a big deal, at least to Richie, and suddenly he can taste burning bile in his throat. He keeps staring at Stan, vision beginning to blur with tears. He can’t believe he snapped at his friend like that, especially when all Stan had done was reach for some of his _own_ food. It was like a natural reaction, something he had no control over. He understood food not as something that tastes good or smells good but as something that was essential to survival. It was his instinct to fight for survival, and when Stan had reached for his food some twisted part of his brain saw Stan as _threatening_ his survival. It was fucked up, and it shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t have to look at food this way, it wasn’t fair.

The tears that had been blurring his vision finally start flowing out, and a low sob ripped it’s way from his throat. Stan looks alarmed, and puts a hand on Richie’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him; he can’t help but notice how bony it is. Richie’s still covering his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his soft sobs as his gaze drops from Stan to stare down at his lap. “Richie, really, it’s fine, you don’t have to cry about it,” Stan says softly. He’s trying to be soothing, but it only makes Richie cry harder.

“No it’s not,” he sniffles. “It’s not fine, Stan. It shouldn’t be like this.”

“Richie…” For once Stanley Uris, King of Comebacks, doesn’t know what to say. 

“Why don’t they feed me? Why don’t they love me?” Richie’s voice comes out thick and heavy with tears and spit. It’s soft and raw and pleading. “I don’t get it Stan.” 

“I don’t get it either,” Stan admits. He scooches his chair closer to Richie and pulls him into a hug, breathing in the scent of Richie’s hair. It smelled like cigarettes, and the cotton candy perfume he puts on to try and cover up the smell of the cigarettes. Richie is shaking, and he cries into Stan’s chest, trying not to worry about the fact that he’s getting tears and snot all over Stan’s nice new navy blue sweater. 

“It’s not fair,” Richie mumbled miserably into the fabric. Stan gently runs a hand through his hair.

“I know.” 

He just holds Richie like that, taking in the strangeness of the moment. Richie almost never talked about his parents. If you brought it up, he would dance around the subject, usually turning it into an opportunity to joke about Eddie’s mom until he got beeped by the group. The fact that they neglected him wasn’t something he had spoken about before, at least to the best of Stan’s knowledge; but here was now, finally addressing it, and Stan just wishes he knew the right thing to say or do, but he doesn’t.

Stan doesn’t understand it anymore than Richie does. He can’t fathom why two people would even have a child if they didn’t want to take care of it, or weren’t going to show it any kind of love. He can’t fathom what it would be like to not have food in the house, or for his parents not to care about his grades or whether or not he was safe or happy. He doesn’t understand how anyone can neglect their child the way Richie’s parents did and still live themselves, he doesn’t understand how they can sleep at night. 

He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t have an answer for any of this, so he rests his chin on Richie’s head and rocks him a little and lets him cry it out. After a while, Richie breaks the contact, pulling away and rubbing his swollen and bloodshot eyes with his sleeve. He takes a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. Now that the initial wave of panic and hysteria is gone, he can’t help but feel a little embarrassed, and he doesn’t like how Stan is suddenly looking at him like he was afraid that at any given moment Richie was going to break and shatter into a million tiny pieces. 

“Sorry,” He croaks out, and clears his throat. He sniffs back some of the mucus in his throat, once again looking away from Stan. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me. _Christ._ ”

“Richie, don’t be sorry. You’re allowed to be hurt by it.” Richie shakes his head. 

“It’s fine, Stan, really. Forget I said anything, okay?” His voice is still raw and he glances at his friend, who’s now wearing a tight-lipped, concerned expression. 

“Dude, I’m not going to just forget about it. I’m worried about you.” 

“Don’t. I can handle it.” 

“You shouldn’t have to...” Stan trails off, but Richie doesn’t say anything, only sniffs again, staring down at the floor. “You shouldn’t have to deal with having such shitty parents, Rich. It sucks.”

“Yeah,” Richie lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs back. “You’re telling me.”

“You know, if you ever need anything-”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it Stan. Really, it’s fine. But thank you.”

There’s a pause here, and Stan can tell that Richie is still feeling tense. “You know I love you, right?” He asks quietly, and Richie gives him a look of uncertainty. 

“Yeah? Well, I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

“No,” Stan sighs. He wishes Richie didn’t still have tears leaking down his face, he wishes Richie would look him in the eye for more than a couple seconds at a time. He wishes Richie wasn’t hurting so badly. “No, I mean, I _love_ you, Richie.” 

Richie doesn’t say anything for a long time, and for a second Stan is worried that he might have just really fucked up. Then he can see the ghost of a smile play itself across Richie’s lips. 

“Do you mean that?” He finally asks.

“Of course I do.”

“So you’d kiss me?” He looks at Stan, and now it’s Stan’s turn not to answer. Instead he grabs the side of Richie’s face gently, cupping it, and closes the distance between them, presses his own lips against Richie’s pink, soft, velvety ones. There’s a sharp saltiness from the tears that had been smeared all over Richie’s face, but Stan doesn’t mind. Kissing Richie feels nice, _really_ nice, and it takes him a second but he realizes that Richie has stopped shaking, stopped crying, and is melting into him. 

The two pull apart, and Richie let’s out a little puff of air. “Wow,” he says thoughtfully, watery. “That was really gay, Stan.”

“Shut up,” Stan chuckles, and pulls Richie in for another kiss. “I love you,” he says again, and for the first time in his life, Richie can actually feel it.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope i did okay?? i did this to fill a tumblr prompt, the prompt was "since ya asked for prompts and stuff, can ya do something with stozier and maybe richie being food aggressive and the group finding out or something?? Idk, it can probably lose the stozier, mainly I wanna read about a richie who will snarl and snap at someone who tries to take his food because his parents hardly feed him (also I love your bichie story!!)"
> 
> i don't think i did a very good jobby with the prompt but its like 3:30 in the morning so i can't worry about it


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